


Flowers for Algernon

by Nebbles



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Healing, Introspection, Self-Reflection, This was very cathartic to write, let sylvain be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: Sylvain stood somewhere on Gautier’s borders, where the snowfall wasn’t as heavy, the cold less oppressive. In his hand the Lance of Ruin glowed, an eerie light in the darkness.Finally, he was to put it to rest.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	Flowers for Algernon

Sylvain never liked the idea of responsibilities. They’d always bound him to things he’d never cared for, giving him burdens that are too heavy for the shoulders they were supposed to rest upon.

The position of Margave, the “necessity” of having to pass down his Crest, it’d all been nothing but white noise that’d continually passed through his mind. Sure, he could have handled his distaste of it all better, but who was to say he had the energy to care anymore? 

He was tired; he’d always been tired. Exhaustion clung to him before the war began, and sank deeper into his bones the further it trickled on. Could anyone blame him for deciding to leave the Kingdom behind? He doesn’t hate it, that’d be a bold claim to make. But Sylvain hated the values it forced on him. Forced on his friends.

It took him twenty-something years to muster up the courage to run away. A pity it took him so long to stop being a coward. Perhaps he could have fixed his territory, perhaps he could have tried to pull away the ridiculous obsession with Crests everyone had. What was so great about them, anyway? Were they worth all the suffering they’ve brought to this damned continent?

He had yet to fully leave the Kingdom, however. There was one last thing he had to do, and even were it not out of respect, he had never been happier to spite his father.

Hah, what would he even say to this? Taking its “precious” Relic from its halls again and burying it deep beneath the earth? Sylvain knew his father had some  _ charming  _ things to say about him when he joined the Alliance. He really would’ve loved to hear those words, and he would love to hear his words now. A laugh leaves him as he imagined how angry his old man would be.

He could choke on it, for all he cared. Leaving without saying a word was the greatest gift Sylvain could give him, considering anything he had to say was less than kind.

Oh, how the people would talk regardless. How he would go from the good-for-nothing heir to House Gautier to the coward, the lazy piece of garbage who threw away his position to run away with a  _ man  _ and refuse to produce crest babies. Then again, his reputation had always been nothing but a mess. It’s all people ever seemed to do: whisper about him behind his back, letting rumors snake through the monastery and the land he used to call home. 

  
Might as well make it messier, right? Life’s more fun that way. If he’s going to finally take control of his own life, he might as well be happier for it.

Sylvain stood somewhere on Gautier’s borders, where the snowfall wasn’t as heavy, the cold less oppressive. In his hand the Lance of Ruin glowed, an eerie light in the darkness. 

Finally, he was to put it to rest.

He’d never been fond of their Relic. Even as a child, the way it moved and pulsed, bathed in its odd glow, unsettled Sylvain more than any nightmares he ever had regarding Miklan. Something about it never did feel… right. To think his hunch was correct… Sylvain wished he was wrong.

No one was particularly pleased that day, learning the history of the Relics and the “Elites” who had forged them. A sea of faces, awash with disgust and horror, rolled throughout the army as Claude informed them of Rhea’s words. That the legacies of their families, their Crests, were built upon the suffering and death of innocents. 

No wonder Rhea wanted the Lance of Ruin back. Had Sylvain known, he would have pushed it back into her hands. He would have turned his back to his father, ignoring any scathing diatribes he would have gotten, and returned such a foul weapon to its rightful place. 

Sylvain stared at the deep hole he’s made in the ground. It’s a poor attempt at a grave, but it was all he could do. He cannot undo what happened years ago, but he can at least pay respects to the lives that were lost. He picked up the accursed lance, giving it a final look before it was placed in its grave. 

It was time to bury the legacy of the Gautiers.   
  
He knelt down, and began to move back the pile of dirt and snow over it. A feeling overcame him, one he couldn’t quite put to words. Was he happy to get rid of this terrible lance, the one that’d done nothing but given him nightmares of black beasts? The hate he held for Miklan hasn’t left him. However, he couldn’t help but wonder, if this lance had never been theirs, had he never bore a Crest, had this all never occurred years ago…

Here he was, considering questions that would never have answers. Introspection was nothing new to him, as these thoughts had done nothing but run rampant these past five years. They wouldn’t be put to rest with the lance. It was something that’d weigh on him for years to come. But perhaps with this, he could begin to heal. The process won’t be easy, but it does ease him to think no longer can this lance take the lives of others.

The cold was an afterthought to him as he took his time in patting down the layers of snow. This was weather he was used to, right? So what if he got sick from staying outside too long? 

Well, it could be an issue. He and Felix were going to run away, after all.

The other had opted to give him space for this, even before Sylvain was able to make his request. Whatever Felix was doing with his relic, he didn’t ask. Letting them handle this matter in their own ways was important. It was closure. It was a way to put the remnants of the war behind them.

Sylvain clasped his hands together in prayer once the pile was gone. He took in a deep breath, shutting his eyes.

When was the last time he had prayed like this? Was it when those bandits lost their lives to Miklan’s band of thieves? He had briefly prayed for Dimitri’s safety at one point, as well as Felix’s when they were seperated. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what to say this time. Sylvain wasn’t sure about his thoughts on the afterlife, or how long spirits tended to linger after death.

All he could hope is somehow, they were heard.

_ ‘I hope, that wherever your spirits are, that returning the lance is able to make you rest easier. I know it’s not my fault, but I’m sorry for the suffering your people had to endure.’ _

Was that good enough of a prayer? Should he pray for longer, until he felt as though it was going to do something? Was he putting too much thought into this, a simple act such as offering penance for lost souls? Thinking too hard over this was giving him a headache. A simple prayer was enough, right? He’s sure it was enough for those innocent townspeople five years ago.

Guilt wasn’t something he should feel over this, either. Until earlier, he had never known. It’s something he had to keep reminding himself, something he had to repeat in his mind as he slowly inhaled and exhaled once more.

No, he didn’t want to move just yet. There was still a lot on his mind. The gentle noise of the wind offered a bit of comfort, just so he wasn’t completely alone with his thoughts. Sylvain couldn’t help but be curious as to what everyone else chose to do with their Relics. He knew it was hardly his business, but eh, it was in him to worry about his friends.

He wasn’t the only one who hated his Crest. That was obvious, but he wasn’t sure if everyone else was off to bury them deep below the earth, or chose to lock them away deep into their estates, never to speak of them again. They would fade like whispers on the wind, falling to obscurity. But what of the Nabateans? Would their legacy live on? Would there be changes to the history books, detailing the correct origin of Relics, so no one would truly touch them ever again?

Again, no answers may come to him. Perhaps there wasn’t anything wrong with that, just this once. Perhaps with peace finally theirs, people could use this time to ensure it remains. 

A soft sigh escaped him, his breath clouding in the bitter air. It’d never felt quite so refreshing before. It was going to be a long time until he’d see Faerghus again -- that is if he and Felix chose to return. A part of him wanted to visit it, just to pay respects to Dimitri, and yet… well, he had abandoned it all the same. It’s possible Dimitri didn’t want him back.

  
Hey, can he blame the guy? Dimitri had every right to be pissed. If he held any regrets, it’d be letting their supposed king-to-be die at Gronder the way he did. It’s better than he and Felix never return. Their former classmates would probably say the same.

Whatever. Faerghus kind of sucked anyway. 

At first, it was odd to think he’d be giving himself this better future, finally accepting his past life was one hardly worth living. His father. Miklan, his abuse. The expectations he had, the ideals forced upon him. They’re nothing but in the past now. Happiness was something he could allow himself, something tangible to hold onto as Sylvain found Felix’s hand in his own. They could leave this country and its, quite frankly, stupid ideas behind.

It only took him saying four words:  _ Run away with me. _

And both of them had enough of being miserable, didn’t they? Sylvain figured after years of it, they could finally pull away. It was time to finally enjoy what freedom tasted like.

That happiness would take time to settle in, but at the very least, it was achievable. He and Felix had all the time in the world to heal, keeping one another safe as they left Faerghus behind.

That was enough to put a smile on Sylvain’s face as he stood and began to walk away, leaving the lance where it laid. 

He was free.


End file.
